Harry Potter One-Shots/Series - 7 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me. All characters are aged up (above 18) and are consenting adults. This is a work of fiction and does not resemble reality in any way whatsoever.

Harry Potter One-Shots/Series

Story: The Beauty and the Brute (Gregory Goyle/Hermione Granger)

~ Hermione Granger ~

The year of 1997, what was supposed to be their final year at their sanctuary, their home, Hogwarts, was now a cage filled with loss, homelessness, silence, and creeping despair. The Forest of Dean, usually a place of ancient, slumbering beauty, and nostalgic memories for Hermione Granger, had been transformed by the war into a shelter of shadows and biting cold.

It was a bleak existence, this life on the run, a nightmare where the only colors were the grey of the sky, the brown of the trees that shielded them, and the occasional, shocking red of fresh blood.The Horcrux hunt had taken its toll on all of them, carving hollows beneath their eyes and stripping away the innocence of childhood that had lingered even through the chaotic days at Hogwarts and the early days of the Second War. They were ghosts haunting their own lives, drifting from campsite to campsite, bound by a mission that felt increasingly impossible.Hermione Granger, usually the architect of their survival, the one who checked the wards three times and rationed the food with exhausting precision, felt the edges of her sanity fray more than she dared to admit.

It was the silence that got to her.

The tent was suffocating, filled with the unspoken tension between Harry and Ron, the heavy, oppressive weight of the locket when it was worn, and the crushing boredom of waiting for a breakthrough that never seemed to come. She was the smart and mentally strong one.

She had to be.

Harry was the Chosen One, carrying the weight of prophecy; Ron was the heart, currently broken and poisoning them all due to, what she suspected, the locket’s influence. That left her to be the brain, the spine, the mother, and the survivor all at once.Need drove her out. Not a need for food or water—she could duplicate the meager supplies they had—but a desperate, clawing need for solitude. Just ten minutes. She had told herself she would go no further than the edge of the protective enchantments, just far enough to breathe air that didn’t smell of stale tea, mouldy bread, unwashed teenage boys, and hopelessness.She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, her breath misting in the frigid air. The crunch of frost-hardened leaves beneath her boots were the only source of sound across the other defeaning silence, making her wince.

Her mind was drifting, caught in a spiral of worry about her parents in Australia—were they safe? Did they remember her in their dreams?—about the silence from the Order, about the way Ron looked at her with that toxic mix of longing and resentment fueled by the dark magic around his neck.She walked further than she intended. The trees looked different here, older, their twisted branches clawing at the slate-grey sky. It was a fatal, amateurish mistake, the kind she would have scolded Harry for. She was so lost in her own internal anxiety that she failed to notice the subtle shift in the air, the way the birds had stopped singing, the unnatural stillness that spoke of the first law of the forest.

When the forest gets quiet, you are not alone anymore.When she heard the snap of a twig that wasn't of her own making, her hand flew to her pocket instinctively.Empty.The sensation was more terrifying than facing a werewolf. The blood drained from her face so fast it left her dizzy, the world tilting on its axis.

The wand. Her vinewood wand, her lifeline, her identity since she walked into Diagon Alley as an 11-year old.

It was sitting on the transfigured crate she used as a bedside table, right next to the copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard she had been obsessively analyzing. She had been so desperate to escape the stifling atmosphere of the tent, so eager for just a moment of feeling like a normal girl on a winter walk, that she had simply… walked out without it."Well, well, what do we have here?"The voice was scratchy, unfamiliar, and dripped with a predatory amusement that made Hermione’s skin crawl. It wasn't the posh cruelty of a Malfoy or the insane screech of a Lestrange; it was the low, common cruelty of a deadbeat grunt.She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird beating its wings against a cage. Emerging from the gloom of the trees were four men. They were ragged, smelling of stale alcohol, cheap tobacco, and unwashed bodies, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt.

Snatchers. The bottom feeders of the Dark Lord’s new regime."Looks like a stray bit of skirt," one of them sneered, stepping forward. He was missing a front tooth, and his wand was held loosely, arrogantly, as if he knew she posed no threat. "Out for a stroll, love?""I… I was just looking for firewood," Hermione stammered, her mind racing at a million miles an hour. She was defenseless. Without her wand, she was just a girl in the woods. A Muggle-born girl. "I live nearby. My father is… he’s woodcutting.""Do you now?" The leader, a man with a scarred lip and a coat made of mismatched furs, tilted his head. "Don't sound local. You sound… posh. Like a lass from those bookshops. And you smell like magic."Hermione backed away, her heel catching on a root. She stumbled, flailing for balance, and they laughed. It was a cruel, guttural sound that echoed through the trees."Check her for a wand, Scabior," the leader ordered, his eyes narrowing."Don't touch me!" Hermione shrieked, panic finally shattering her composure. She turned to run, knowing it was futile but unable to surrender without movement. Her survival instinct screamed run, even though there was nowhere to go.She made it three steps before the tripping jinx hit her. It wasn't elegant magic but it did the job. A misstep putting her off-balance, and she pitched forward, slamming hard into the frozen earth. The air left her lungs in a painful whoosh, the taste of dead leaves and dirt filling her mouth. Before she could drag a breath in, rough hands were on her. They hauled her up by her coat, spinning her around with unnecessary force."No wand on 'er," the one called Scabior said, patting her down with lingering, groping hands that made bile rise in her throat. He squeezed her waist, his hand drifting dangerously low before the leader barked an order. "Must be a Mudblood on the run. Or just stupid.""Both, likely," the leader grunted. "Check her arms."They ripped her sleeve up. The skin was unblemished, no Dark Mark, but the sheer terror in her hazel eyes was all the identification they needed.

She wasn't one of them. She was prey."Pretty thing," Scabior muttered, his face too close to hers. His breath smelled of rot. "Reckon we could have some fun before we turn her in? It’s a long walk to the apparition point.""No," the leader said sharply, though his eyes lingered on the curve of her hips. "The Ministry pays for live ones, and the rewards are higher for untouched stock. We take her to the holding cells. Let the big boys sort her out. If she’s high value, we get a bonus. If not… well, maybe then."Hermione struggled, kicking out, screaming for help that she knew wouldn't come, right up until she was gagged. If Harry or Ron heard her, they would come running, and they would be captured too. She had to be silent. "Please," she whispered, a singular, pathetic plea to the universe."Save it for the Dementors, sweetheart," Scabior laughed, shoving her forward.

~ Hermione Granger ~

The journey was a blur of nausea-inducing apparitions and rough handling. When the world finally stopped spinning, Hermione found herself thrown into a damp, stone cell. The heavy iron door slammed shut with a finality that echoed in the marrow of her bones.She was in a Ministry holding facility—or what passed for one under the new regime. It was likely the basement of some commandeered manor house, repurposed for the processing of 'undesirables.' The air was thick with the smell of mould, rust, and old fear that clung to the skin. There was no light save for a flickering torch in the corridor outside, casting long, dancing shadows through the small barred window of her door.Hermione crawled into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest. She was shivering, partly from the cold that seeped through the stone floor, but mostly from the terrifying clarity of her situation. She was Hermione Granger, Undesirable Number Two. When they identified her—and they would, inevitably—it wouldn’t be a quick death.

It would be Bellatrix Lestrange. It would be Fenrir Greyback. It would be Antonin Dolohov.

It would be the Cruciatus Curse until her mind shattered. It would be a public spectacle to break Harry’s spirit and make him surrender.She closed her eyes, tears leaking out to trace hot paths through the dirt on her cheeks. She thought of Harry, probably realizing she was gone by now. He would blame himself. Ron would scream. They might try to find her, and they would walk into a trap. By being careless, she had potentially doomed the entire wizarding world."I'm so sorry," she whispered into the darkness, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Harry."A couple hours passed. Every footstep in the corridor outside made her flinch, her heart stopping in her chest. She listened to the distant sounds of screaming, the clang of doors, the rough laughter of guards. She tried to meditate, to organize her thoughts like books on a shelf, but her fear kept knocking the shelves over.She waited for the end. She waited for the door to open and for a masked figure to drag her to her doom.Eventually, the footsteps stopped right outside her door. Heavy, lumbering footsteps. 

The lock clicked. The grinding of metal against metal filled the silence with an unwelcoming screech.Hermione scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the damp stone wall. She tried to summon some shred of Gryffindor courage, tried to lift her chin and face her executioner with the dignity she had read about in history books.The door swung open.A massive silhouette filled the frame, blocking out the torchlight from the hall. The figure had to duck slightly to enter. He stepped into the cell, and the dim light finally caught his features.Hermione’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in disbelief.It wasn't a Snatcher. It wasn't a generic Death Eater. It wasn't Bellatrix.It was Gregory Goyle.But not the Goyle she remembered from the corridors of Hogwarts. That Goyle had been a thug, a sidekick, a blob of muscle encased in an ill-fitting school uniform. This man was a brute in the truest sense of the word. He had grown, filling out into a hulking wall of muscle that seemed to stretch the fabric of his dark robes to the breaking point. His neck was thick as a tree trunk, his shoulders broad enough to span the width of the cell door. His hair was cropped short, bristly like a boar’s, emphasizing the harsh, heavy lines of his jaw and the dull, yet dangerous, glint in his small, deep-set eyes.He kicked the door shut behind him, sealing them in together. The space suddenly feeling smaller than it was."Granger," he grunted. His voice was deeper now, a bass rumble that vibrated in the floorboards and settled in her chest."Goyle," she breathed, the name tasting like ash and disbelief.He stared at her, his eyes raking over her form with a slow intensity. Even in her ragged clothes, dishevelled and terrified, Hermione Granger had grown into a woman of undeniable, arresting beauty. The months on the run had stripped away any lingering baby fat, leaving her with a sharp, elegant jawline, but her body had retained—even flourished—in its lush, feminine curves. Her coat hung open, revealing the swell of her hips in her tight denim jeans, the curve of her waist, and the heaviness of her sizable breasts beneath her jumper.Goyle seemed surprised to find her there. He scratched his chin, looking her up and down with a processing speed that was visibly slow but terrifyingly focused."Snatchers brought in a haul," he said, more to himself than her. "Said they caught a stray. Didn't think it'd be Potter's mudblood."Hermione winced at the slur, but her mind was racing, shedding the paralysis of fear for a way out, a way to ensure her survival. Goyle. He wasn't Bellatrix. He wasn't Lucius. He was… Goyle. He was a follower. He was simple. Maybe, just maybe, he was her only chance."Gregory," she said, her voice trembling but gaining strength. She took a tentative step forward. "Gregory, you have to help me."He blinked, looking at her as if she had spoken in Gobbledegook. "Help you? You're wanted. Big reward. Undesirable Number Two.""I know," she stepped closer, her hands clasped together in supplication. She had to reach him. She had to find a lever to pull. "But you know me. We went to school together for six years. We sat in the same classrooms. You can't just let them… you know what they’ll do to me."Goyle leaned back against the door, crossing his massive arms over his chest. The fabric of his robes strained against his biceps, revealing the sheer physical power he commanded. "Yeah. I know. They'll kill you. Probably hurt you first. Break you."He said it with such casual indifference that it chilled her blood to absolute zero."Please," she begged, tears welling up again, genuine terror fuelling her voice. "Please, just let me go. Say you checked the cell and it was empty. Say I escaped before you got here. No one has to know. You can say the Snatchers lied!"Goyle snorted, a harsh sound. "I am not smart, Granger, everyone says so. But I am not that stupid. If I let you go, I get nothing. If I turn you in, I get gold. And glory. The Dark Lord rewards service.""Is that all you want?" she cried desperately. "Gold? I can… I can get you gold. Harry has gold! The Weasleys… well, the Order… we can protect you!""Potter's gold is gone if he's dead," Goyle said simply, dismissing her offer with a wave of his hand. He took a step toward her, and the cell shrank further. The sheer size of him was overwhelming. He towered over her, radiating a heavy, masculine heat and the scent of dark magic and musk.He looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her chest, then dropping lower to the curve of her hips and the generous swell of her buttocks in the tight jeans. A strange look entered his eyes—dark, hungry, and calculating. It was the look of a man who suddenly realized he held a rare prize."I don't need gold," he rumbled. "My family's got gold. What I want… I can't buy."He fell silent, thinking. Hermione watched the gears turn, terrified of what conclusion he would reach. He stared at her for a long, agonizing minute, his tongue darting out to wet his lips."Draco," he said suddenly."What?" Hermione blinked, thrown off balance."Draco," Goyle repeated, a scowl crossing his broad face. "He always gets everything. The best marks, the best broom, the lead in the tasks. The Dark Lord’s favor, even when he screws up. And he gets Pansy."Hermione was confused, her fear momentarily giving way to bewilderment. "Pansy Parkinson?""Yeah. Pansy," Goyle grunted, bitterness seeping into his tone. "She's his… you know. His sex friend. Whenever he wants. He snaps his fingers, and there she is, on her knees with an eagerly open mouth. He struts around the common room bragging about it. Says she does anything he likes."Goyle’s jaw tightened, the muscles bunching. "I want that. I want what Draco has. I’m stronger than him. I’m bigger than him. But I get nothing."He looked at Hermione again, his eyes darkening with intent."I'll let you go," he said, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating growl.Hermione’s heart leaped into her throat. "You will?""On one condition." He stepped closer, crowding her space, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him. "You become my sex friend. Like Pansy is for Draco."Hermione’s mouth fell open. Shock paralyzed her. "What?""You heard me," Goyle said, a cruel, lopsided smirk touching his lips. "You want to live? You want to go back to Potter and Weasley? Then you give me what I want. Right here. Right now.""But… why me?" she whispered, horrified. "I’m… I’m a Muggle-born. You hate me."Goyle chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that wasn't entirely devoid of humour. "Two reasons. One, look at you." He gestured vaguely at her body with a hand the size of a ham. "You filled out, Granger. You got curves. Tits. A massive arse. Better than Pansy's bony frame any day. You look like a woman, not a stick."He leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating from him. "And two… because Draco has a crush on you."Hermione froze. The world seemed to stop. "He… what?""Oh yeah," Goyle nodded, enjoying her shock. "Has for years. Always watching you in the library. Always talking about you, even when he's insulting you. He's obsessed. If I fuck you… if I make you mine… it’s the ultimate get-back. I’ll have the one thing Draco couldn't get. I’ll have Potter’s Mudblood begging for it."Hermione reeled. The absurdity of it, the twisted logic, was almost too much to process. Draco Malfoy had a crush on her? And Gregory Goyle wanted to use her to settle a score of teenage jealousy and hormonal frustration? It was madness."So?" Goyle demanded, his patience wearing thin. He checked the door behind him. "That's the deal. You let me use you. You do whatever I say. You submit. And when I'm done, I open this door and look the other way. You run. I claim I checked the cell and it was empty."Hermione looked at him. She looked at the heavy iron door. She thought of Harry and Ron, helpless without her, starving in the woods. She thought of the torture that awaited her if she refused. It was her body against her life. Her dignity against the outcome of the war.She looked at Goyle. He was a brute, yes. A monster, perhaps. But in this moment, he was offering her a lifeline, however twisted and depraved.She took a shaky breath. She was a Gryffindor. She would walk through fire for her friends. She would do whatever it took."Do you swear?" she asked, her voice trembling but clear. "Do you swear on your magic that you will let me go immediately after?"Goyle nodded solemnly. "I vow it. I get what I want, you walk free."Hermione closed her eyes for a second, steeling herself. She pushed down the fear, pushed down the shame. Then she opened them, looking up into Goyle’s dark, expectant eyes."Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I'll do it."Goyle grinned. It transformed his face from dull to predatory, a wolf sighting a lamb that had stopped running. "Good choice, Granger."He didn't wait for her to prepare. He closed the distance in a split second, his large hands gripping her arms to haul her against him. The impact knocked the breath out of her. Before she could react, his mouth crashed down onto hers.It wasn't a romantic kiss. His lips were rough, chapped, and demanding, forcing hers apart. Hermione whimpered, her hands coming up to push against his chest, but it was like pushing against a stone wall. He was immovable. He groaned into her mouth, his tongue invading, sweeping through her cavern with a dominance that made her knees weak.She had never been kissed before. Krum had given her a peck on the cheek. Ron... he had never looked at her. But this... this was raw, masculine aggression. Goyle kissed her like he owned her, like he had been waiting years to devour her.Hermione’s resistance faltered. Her body, flooded with adrenaline and fear, betrayed her. The sheer overwhelming force of him triggered something primal, a survival instinct that morphed into submission. She stopped pushing and started to hold on, her fingers curling into the rough fabric of his robes to keep her balance as he bent her backwards.He broke the kiss, leaving her gasping for air, her lips bruised and swollen."Beautiful," he muttered, his eyes hooded, scanning her face.His hands went to her coat, ripping the buttons open. He shoved the fabric off her shoulders, letting it fall to the dirty floor. Next came her jumper. He didn't have the patience for niceties; he simply pulled it over her head, her hair static-clinging to his hands. He tossed it aside, leaving her in her bra and jeans.Goyle stepped back to look at her. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, her face burning with shame. But Goyle’s gaze was reverent."Merlin," he breathed. "Look at you."He reached out, his rough fingers tracing the curve of her waist, then sliding down to grip her wide hips. His hands were massive, spanning over half her waist easily, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh."Turn around," he ordered.Hermione hesitated, then slowly turned, exposing her back to him."Jeans off," he commanded.She fumbled with the button, her fingers shaking uncontrollably. She pushed her jeans down, kicking them off her ankles. She stood there in her simple cotton knickers, the cold air biting her skin.She heard Goyle intake a sharp breath."Draco was right," he murmured, his voice thick. "That arse is magnificent. Pansy's got nothing on this."His hands landed on her buttocks, squeezing the soft flesh. Hermione gasped, arching her back involuntarily. He was rough, his fingers digging in, kneading her like dough. He pulled her back against his groin, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection through his robes. It was massive. A distinct, terrifying pressure against her lower back."Please," she whispered, not sure what she was pleading for anymore. The heat from his body was encompassing her."Not yet," he growled. He spun her around. "Kneel."Hermione looked at the dirty stone floor. She looked at him. He was unbuckling his belt, pushing his robes aside. She slowly sank to her knees, her eyes fixed on his midsection.He shoved his trousers down, freeing himself.Hermione’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat.He was huge. Thick and heavy, veins wrapping around the shaft like a beater's bat. It was significantly larger than anything she had ever imagined, certainly larger than what she assumed an average man possessed. It was a brute's cock, fitting for his stature."Scared, Granger?" Goyle chuckled, seeing her expression. "Don't worry. You'll take it. You look built for it."He placed a hand on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her bushy curls. "Taste it."Hermione trembled. She reached out with a tentative hand, wrapping her fingers around the base. It was hot, radiating heat like a furnace. She could feel the heavy pulse beneath the skin. The sheer girth of it filled her hand completely, her fingers far from meeting on the other side.She leaned forward, closing her eyes, and licked the tip. Salty. Musky. The taste of a man."Come on," Goyle urged, his voice tight, his hips twitching. "Put it in your mouth."She opened her mouth, trying to accommodate him. As the head slid past her lips, she gagged slightly. It was too big. She tried to retreat, but Goyle’s hand on her head held her firm."Take it deep," he groaned.She worked her jaw, trying to relax. She was inexperienced, clumsy. She didn't know the rhythm, didn't know how to use her tongue. She bobbed her head uncertainly, her teeth grazing him occasionally.Instead of getting angry, Goyle seemed to revel in her amateurishness. The fact that the brilliant Hermione Granger was on her knees, drooling and struggling to service him, fed his ego in a way nothing else ever had. It was total victory."Yeah," he grunted, thrusting his hips forward slightly, forcing her to take more of him, stretching her cheeks. "Just like that. Suck it, Granger."Hermione’s eyes watered. Saliva pooled in her mouth, spilling out to run down her chin and drip onto her bra-clad chest. She made wet, slurping noises that echoed in the quiet cell. Her humiliation was total, but beneath it, a strange spark ignited.

The surrender. The loss of control.

The feeling of being completely at the mercy of this powerful, dominant man. He was taking what he wanted, and she was letting him. For the first time since she had entered the Wizarding World, Hermione Granger was not the one ordering someone around. He was so strong. His hand on her head was firm, guiding her, possessing her.After a few minutes, Goyle pulled away, breathing hard, his face flushed."Enough," he rasped. "I want to be inside you."He bent down and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. Hermione gasped as the floor fell away. He carried her to the center of the cell. With a wave of his wand, a feat that surprised her since she had always assumed he was not very gifted with magic, he transfigured the scattered straw and a loose stone into a wide, sturdy bed with a surprisingly soft mattress.He threw her onto it. She bounced, her hair fanning out around her head like a halo.Before she could scramble back, Goyle was looming over her. He climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his immense weight. He positioned himself between her legs, spreading her thighs wide. He reached down and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers.Rip.The sound of tearing fabric filled the air. He didn't bother sliding them off; he just tore them away, leaving her completely exposed to his gaze.Hermione cried out, trying to cover herself with her hands, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. His grip was like a manacle. She was trapped."Look at me," he commanded.She forced her eyes to meet his. He looked like a man possessed, flush with lust. Powerful. Focused entirely on her."You're mine now, Granger," he growled. "Not Potter's. Not Weasley's. Not Draco's. Mine."He didn't prepare her. He didn't wait. He lifted her hips with his free hand, positioning her, and thrust forward.Hermione screamed.The pain was sharp and immediate as he pushed into her tight, dry heat. She felt stretched, filled to the bursting point. He was so big, tearing past her barriers, taking her virginity in a single thrust."Relax," he grunted, his face contorted with effort and pleasure. "Take me."He held still for a moment, letting her adjust to the intrusion. Hermione panted, tears streaming from her eyes. But then, as the initial shock faded, the feeling of fullness took over. He was completely filling her, stretching her walls, touching places deep inside her that had never been touched.Then he began to move.It wasn't gentle lovemaking. It was a conquest of her body and mind. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, his hips colliding with her buttocks with a wet slap."Oh god!" Hermione cried out, her head thrown back, her body arching off the mattress."Yeah!" Goyle roared. "Take it! Take it all!"He pounded into her, a relentless rhythm. The friction was incredible. Pain began to blur into pleasure, the lines overlapping until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. The sheer force of him was overwhelming her senses. Every thrust sent a jolt of electricity up her spine.He released her wrists to grab her hips, his large hands digging into her soft flesh, holding her in place as he ravaged her. Hermione found herself wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper."Please!" she moaned, tossing her head from side to side. "Gregory! Oh god!""Say it!" he demanded, sweat dripping from his forehead onto her chest. "Say you like it! Say I'm better than Draco! Say I’m better than Weasley!""You are!" she sobbed, lost in the haze of endorphins and adrenaline. "You're so big! So strong! Please!"The pleasure was building, a tidal wave she couldn't stop. The rough, primal dominance of him was shattering her defences. She wasn't the brains of the Golden Trio right now. She wasn't a soldier. She was just a woman, being claimed by a powerful man.She looked up at him, at his intense focus, the way his muscles bunched and rippled as he moved. And in that moment, something shifted. The fear evaporated, replaced by a profound, terrifying attraction. She needed this. She needed his strength to drown out the war."I love it!" she screamed as he hit a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her, her legs locking around his bulked waist. "I love it!"Goyle grinned, a triumphant, savage expression. He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming a blur. The bed creaked and groaned under their combined activity.Hermione’s toes curled. Her vision blurred. "I'm close! Gregory, I'm close!""Cum for me!" he bellowed. "Cum for your master!"With one final, bone-jarring thrust, he sent her over the edge. Hermione cried out, her body convulsing around him, her inner muscles clamping down on his shaft. The pleasure was blinding, white-hot and all-consuming, erasing the cell, the war, and everything else.Goyle groaned, his own control snapping. He drove into her hard, once, twice, three times, and then buried himself to the hilt, pouring his seed into her. He shuddered, a low, animalistic roar tearing from his throat.They collapsed together, panting, slick with sweat. Goyle’s heavy weight pressed her into the mattress, crushing her in a way that felt strangely protective. Hermione didn't push him off. She lay there, her heart racing, feeling the aftershocks of the orgasm ripple through her.She traced a hand down his sweaty back, marvelling at the dense muscle.He lifted his head, looking down at her. The aggression was gone, replaced by a smug, satisfied exhaustion."Better than Draco," he muttered.Hermione let out a breathless laugh, cupping his cheek. She looked into his eyes and realized with a jolt that she wasn't acting anymore. The vow was fulfilled, but she didn't want to leave. Not really."Much better," she whispered.Goyle smirked. He gently kissed her lips—a surprisingly tender gesture for such a brute. Then he rolled off her and stood up, adjusting his robes.He walked to the cell door and unlocked it."Go," he said, not looking back. "Before I change my mind."Hermione sat up, pulling her clothes back on with trembling hands.

She felt different. Changed.

She looked at Goyle’s broad back, her heart aching."Thank you," she said softly.She grabbed for where her wand should be, remembering she was defenceless."Here," Goyle said, tossing something to her.She caught it. It wasn't her vinewood wand. It was a sturdy hawthorn wand."Spare," he grunted. "Don't get caught again. Next time, I might not let you leave."Hermione clutched the wand. She ran to the door, pausing just behind him. On impulse, she reached up and kissed his cheek."I won't forget this," she promised.Then she slipped out into the corridor, running back toward the war, carrying the secret of the dungeon in her heart and the feel of Gregory Goyle imprinted on her soul.

~ Hermione Granger ~The war dragged on, weeks bleeding into months. The trio, briefly a duo, moved constantly, hunted, exhausted, and frayed. But Hermione had a secret. A dangerous, intoxicating secret that kept her sane.She would disappear.When Harry was on watch, or when Ron was trying to make himself useful to earn her forgiveness for leaving them, she would slip away. Not far, just beyond the edge of the wards, where the shadows were deepest. And he would be there.Gregory Goyle.He tracked them. Or maybe she tracked him. It didn't matter. They found each other in the spaces between battles.She became addicted to him. To his touch, his presence, and his cock. He was the opposite of everything she was.

He was simple, brutal, and physical. And that was exactly what she needed. With him, she didn't have to think. She just had to feel.One morning, deep in a forest near the Welsh border, she found a small abandoned cottage. It was barely standing, but it had a kitchen. She sent a Patronus to the signal point.He arrived twenty minutes later.Hermione was standing at the old wood stove, having scavenged some eggs and bread. She was cooking, trying to create a moment of domestic normalcy in the middle of hell."What's this?" Goyle’s voice rumbled from the doorway.She turned, smiling. "Breakfast. I thought… we could eat before…"He crossed the room in two strides. He didn't look at the food. He looked at her. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, pressing her against the counter."I don't want eggs, Granger," he growled.He flipped her skirt up. No panties, just like he liked. 

He didn't ask. He just took. His hand smacked against her bare ass, hard.Smack.Hermione cried out, a sound of shock and pleasure."Don't do this," he said, hitting her again. Smack. "Playing house. Making food.""Why?" she gasped, gripping the edge of the stove."Because we're enemies," he said, his voice rough. He pressed himself against her back. "I'm a Death Eater. You're the Undesirable Number 2. Don't get attached. Don't fall for me."He spanked her again, harder, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. "This isn't real. It's just sex."Little did he know, the Muggle-born had already fallen for him. She loved the brute. She loved the way he made her feel safe in his passion. She didn't say anything to him about her feelings. She knew it would spook him."If I can't make you food," she whispered, turning in his arms to face him, her eyes dark with lust. "I can do this."Hermione didn't hesitate this time. She wasn't the amateur in the cell anymore. She knew what he liked. She pulled his trousers down and took him into her mouth with a hunger that surprised even him.She worked him expertly, her tongue swirling, her hand pumping the length of the shaft she could not fit. She looked up at him, her eyes fierce, silently challenging him to deny the connection between them."Fuck," Goyle hissed, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Yeah, Granger. Just like that."She sucked him harder, taking him deep, loving the way he twitched and pulsed. When he was close, she didn't pull away. She swallowed him whole, letting him cum in her mouth, drinking him down like a pepper-up potion.She cleaned him off, then stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, making a show of it."Satisfied?" she asked.Goyle looked at her, his chest heaving. The lust hadn't abated; it had only changed form."Get on the table," he ordered."But your breakfast—""Fuck the breakfast."He swept the plates off the table with a loud crash of ceramics breaking. He grabbed Hermione and bent her over the wood, hiking the skirt up to her waist, her shirt buttons being ripped open again as her bare breasts bounced free.He entered her from behind, no preparation, just raw need."Gregory!" she screamed as he bottomed out inside her, her breasts swinging wildly, slick with sweat and spit.He dominated her completely, his hips slamming into hers, driving her across the table. It was angry sex. It was desperate sex. It was the sex of two people who knew the world was ending and this might be the last time they ever touched, ever connected.He railed her relentlessly, his hands leaving red marks on her ass as he claimed her again and again.Hermione clung to the edge of the table, her knuckles white, screaming his name as he pounded into her, branding her as his, war be damned.

EpilogueThe war ended in a flash of green and red light, crumbling stone, and the final fall of Voldemort in front of the entire population of Hogwarts. The dust had barely settled over the ruins of the school when the celebrations began.The Great Hall was a scene of chaotic joy. Families reunited, the wounded were tended to, and the survivors embraced.Hermione stood near the entrance to the courtyard, watching the sunrise. She was exhausted, covered in grime, but alive. Beside her, Harry and Ron were laughing, the weight of the world finally lifted from their shoulders."We did it," Ron said, reaching for Hermione’s hand. "It's finally over. Now we can… you know, maybe go to Hogsmeade this weekend?"Hermione looked at Ron. He was brave, loyal, and one of her best friends. But when she looked at him, she felt… friendship. Safe, warm, friendship.Then she saw him.Across the courtyard, sitting alone on a piece of fallen masonry, was Gregory Goyle. He was battered, his arm in a sling, looking lost. His side had lost. His friends were dead or arrested. He was waiting for the Aurors to come for him.Hermione’s heart hammered a rhythm she hadn't felt since the dungeon."I'm sorry, Ron," she said, pulling her hand away."What?" Ron blinked."I can't," she said. "I… I love someone else."Before Ron or Harry could react, Hermione walked across the courtyard. The crowd parted for her, the war heroine, the Chosen One's closest ally and the brains behind the trio. Whispers followed her.She stopped in front of Goyle. He looked up, his eyes weary and wary. He expected a curse. He expected an arrest."Granger," he rumbled."Gregory," she smiled.She didn't care about the eyes on them. She didn't care about the politics or the past. She reached down, grabbed the lapels of his torn robes, and hauled him up."You kept your vow," she said."Yeah," he grunted."Now I'm keeping mine," she whispered.She kissed him.It wasn't a chaste peck. It was a deep, passionate, possessive kiss right there in the middle of the Hogwarts ruins.The courtyard went silent.Ron dropped his wand. Molly Weasley gasped.When Hermione pulled away, Goyle looked dazed, a flush rising on his neck."What are you doing?" he hissed. "They'll kill you. I'm a Death Eater, marked.""You're mine," she stated loud enough for everyone to hear. "And I'm yours. I'd be dead if it were not for you, or worse, raped and left in a ditch somewhere after Voldemort and his ilk were done with me. You saved me. Gave me this life. And now, I am giving you yours, so you can spend it with me."Ron stormed over, his face purple. "Hermione! Have you lost your mind? It's Goyle!""He saved me!" Hermione shouted back, standing between Ron and Goyle. "He saved my life! And I love him!""Harry!" Ron turned to his best friend, pleading. "Do something!"Harry Potter looked at Hermione. He saw the fire in her eyes, the protective stance she took in front of the hulking Slytherin. He saw the way Goyle looked at her—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment.Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair."If she's happy, Ron," Harry said quietly. "If she says he saved her from a fate like that… then that's enough for me. If he hurts her, I shall have words with him then.""You can't be serious!" Ron yelled.But Hermione wasn't listening. she took Goyle’s good hand and interlaced her fingers with his."Let's go, Greg," she said.Three Years LaterThe master bedroom of the newly renovated Goyle Estate, was warmly lit by the soft glow of candles. It was a far cry from the damp cell where it had all begun.Hermione lay face down on the silk sheets, her body flushed and arching. Goyle—her husband, her brute, her Greg—loomed over her, just as massive and aggressive as the day they met in the dark.He was pounding into her, the bed frame banging rhythmically against the wall. The rough, primal dynamic hadn't changed; if anything, it had deepened. He owned her body completely, and she worshiped his strength."Greg! Harder!" she begged, clawing at sheets that were soiled by her cunt leaking both of their juices."You like that, Mrs. Goyle?" he growled, slapping her heavy, bouncing ass. "You like taking my big cock?""Yes! Yes!" she moaned, her eyes rolling back. "Fill me up husband! Please!"He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. "I'm going to breed you tonight, princess. I'm going to fill that smart little belly with my brat." Her husband promised, his voice thick with lust, driving deep, touching her womb.Hermione sobbed with pleasure at the words. "Yes! Please! Make me a mother, you brute! Give me your baby!"He roared, finding his release deep inside her, flooding her with his warmth, sealing their bond once again. As she lay there, panting, wrapped in his massive arms, Hermione Granger-Goyle knew she had found her perfect match in the most unlikely of places. She was the brain; he was the brawn.

Together, they were whole.

Author’s Note

Actually, really enjoyed writing this one. Enjoyed creating them images even more. Probably the most for a chapter ever.

Enjoy it.